LUKE’S POV

The cemetery was quiet, save for the low rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional bird cry. I stood alone, a bouquet of deep purple calla lilies in hand—her favorite.

The stone before me was smooth, simple, and unadorned except for a name etched with aching finality:

Seraphina Marek.

She was buried with her true last name.

I crouched slowly, laying the flowers at the base of the tombstone. My hand lingered there, brushing against the chilled marble. The ...